So this is war
by Laura Andrews
Summary: The battle against the White Witch, from Peter's perspective. LWW. One shot. Companion piece to my story 'The Witch's Bane'. Book-verse.
Utter chaos reigned. Peter had spent a large part of his childhood poring over books of battles and stratagems, victories and defeats. He knew battle was supposed to be like this, but still it terrified him. A part of him, detached, looked over everything as an observer. The other part of him, though, stumbled over dead bodies and reeled backwards as a spear narrowly missed him, while his mind struggled to keep up with what his hands must do.

He had given up trying to keep an eye on Edmund. His brother had been possessed of a battle fury which had both heartened and frightened Peter, and every time he caught a glimpse, he saw that wherever Edmund went the Narnians rallied a bit and faltering lines revived. The dispassionate part of his mind saw that the same happened around himself as well, but he did not take it in.

A knot of horrible creatures advanced on him.

"To me!" he cried. His voice, hoarse and cracked, seemed useless. He tried again. "To me!" It was better. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two centaurs and a faun wheel round, intent on coming to his aid. He raised his sword with a weary arm. Bravery was out of the question. Now he was merely fighting for his life. To run would only be to meet another harpy or cyclops.

Just as the faun reached him it fell with an arrow in its side. His heart wrenched at the sight before he fully realized what it meant for him.

The centaurs positioned themselves on either side of him and one shoved him down as a volley of arrows whistled overhead. When it passed the approaching enemy had been cut down by half, but it was not enough.

Three hags, a minotaur, and some wretched creature with bat wings and a goat's head, were upon them.

The hags stayed back a bit and pronounced an incantation in unison. Peter hardly knew what was happening until he found himself on his back, his sword gone from his hand. He tried to stand, tried to see where his sword had gone. The goat-headed creature came from nowhere and latched onto his throat with horrible clawed hands.

Peter, dazed, struggled briefly before the thing was flung away and one of the centaurs pulled him to his feet. The centaur was bloodied; an arrow protruded from his flank and the long score of a blade ran from man's shoulder to horse's rib.

As he stood, Peter looked out across the battlefield. There were statues everywhere. There were bodies everywhere. The enemy seemed not to have lost numbers, but to have grown. His own army was pitifully small, struggling against the tide that seemed to flow from the Witch's side.

And the Witch herself. Where was she? Come to think of it, where was Edmund? All these thoughts passed through his mind in a second. He and the centaur (the other one was gone, to what fate Peter had no time to see) scrambled for higher ground where the larger part of the Narnians had regrouped after a failed attempt to flank the Witch.

Peter, heart running mad in his ears, looked for Edmund amongst them and then once more glanced out at the battlefield.

There was the Witch. Easy enough to find, surrounded by stones that had once been living creatures. She seemed, with her wand, to be directing her army and destroying his at the same time.

And then he saw Edmund. A small figure making his way towards the Witch, his intentions clear.

"Sire!" The centaur interrupted his thoughts. "If we can split into two groups, I believe that we might distract the enemy at the right, while attacking the less heavy left flank."

"Very good." Peter put Edmund from his mind. It was an absurd, dangerous plan, hardly a plan at all, but nothing was going right as it was and they had to do something.

He and the centaur made swift work of dividing the soldiers, and then Peter found himself at the head of those that would attack the left flank.

It brought him very near the Witch, though her back was to him, and of course he looked for Edmund. He couldn't help it.

There was his brother, sword raised. The witch lashed out with her wand and Edmund stepped aside. Peter hardly noticed that he was standing still, watching what was going on with a horrified fascination.

As Edmund stepped aside he brought his sword down, not on the witch but on her wand. Even over the roar of battle Peter heard, or thought he heard, the sound as it smashed into glittering shards. Edmund stood there for a second as if he could hardly believe what he had done, and Peter hardly restrained himself from cheering aloud.

The Witch in one smooth motion dropped the useless wand to the ground and drew her long knife, and drove it into Edmund's chest before Peter could even gasp.

Edmund dropped to the ground.

Black fury rose up into Peter's mind. No one else existed on the battlefield, save for the Witch and Edmund. He was near enough to her that when he cried out, she kicked Edmund aside and turned.

Peter hardly knew how he crossed the distance between them. Her blade, long and wicked and bloody, flashed into his sight almost before he knew that she was in front of him.

Enough was enough. Enough was enough. The words pounded through his head until he was almost dizzy with them. He tried not to look at Edmund, lying motionless a few feet away. Though the Witch's knife was much shorter than his sword she was deadly skillful with it and he found himself dodging away from it and defending himself more than attacking, at least at first. Then it was a dance, back and forth, thrust and parry. She was tall, much taller than he had realized. He had to tilt his head back to look her in the eyes, and when he did so she laughed and redoubled her attack.

It would not end well. His arm ached and already the fire was draining from him so that his movements were jerky and ill-timed.

The Witch came in very close and her blade raced across his arm, leaving a trail of blood and pain, and then, oh joy! A roar shook the battlefield, long and deep and full of the power of a thousand armies. The Witch turned; Peter dropped his exhausted arm to his side and before he knew it, the Lion was upon the Witch in a glory of gleaming teeth and claws and golden mane.

The Witch was gone in a moment.

 _Finis_


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